


They Do Dream Things True

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Creampie, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Forbidden Love, Guided Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romeo and Juliet-esque Warring Families, Threesome - M/M/M, vaguely historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: The three of them shouldn't be together, yet they are.They shouldn't fit so well together, and yet they do.The rules are so easy to break when you're in love.
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Kim Wonpil, Kang Younghyun | Young K/Kim Wonpil/Yoon Dowoon, Kang Younghyun | Young K/Yoon Dowoon, Kim Wonpil/Yoon Dowoon
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	They Do Dream Things True

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the beautiful, romantic Book Of Us: Gluon concept photos.
> 
> So inspired, in fact, that I wrote nearly all of this in a day.
> 
> Title taken from dialogue in Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet.

The sky is beautiful tonight. 

Wonpil almost forgets to look up at it as he slips out of the second story window of his family home and makes the perilous, life-threatening leap to the ground below. His shoes hit the street and he drops to his knees as he lands to absorb the force of the impact. The fall still stings. Pain still lurches through his knees, through his ankles, through his ribs, through his elbows somehow, but he will endure it time and time again. He will do this until his bones snap and perhaps even after that. Nothing will keep him away from them. Wonpil can’t waste time hissing in pain and cursing into the still night air. He stands up and starts moving. Even though the season has yet to change and the night is still warm, he drapes his fine jacket over his head to hide his face and hugs the lapels closer to his body like it is cold outside. Wonpil keeps his head down as he moves through the shadowy streets of the canal city. 

He can’t afford to be recognized.

He can’t get caught. Not tonight.

You see, he’s snuck out of the house. Again. But he hopes his family will be busy enough and drunk enough with tonight’s celebrations that they will not notice he is absent from his bed. His mother’s already threatened to skin him alive if she swings open his door in the middle of the night and sees his empty bed another time but Wonpil is in love.

And it is so easy to break rules and disappoint parents when you’re in love.

With a hand, he pulls his jacket even further over his head and speeds into a half-jog, the sleeves bouncing lifelessly behind him as he goes.

The sun hasn’t been long set, not too much longer than an hour, he guesses, so the gas lamps this far from the center of town have yet to be lit by the patrolling guards.

No matter.

Such shadows serve him well - hide him well - but they also let him see the canvas of the sky above his head that much more clearly.

The stars burn fiercely above him. Twinkling blue and white and gold. The moon hangs low, large, yellow. He can hardly see it over the tiled roofs of the houses and shops he passes but, every now and then, there’s a large enough gap between buildings for him to catch glimpses of the moon out on the horizon, perfectly mirrored on the surface of the ocean.

It’s a blessing, such a sight. The rains and thunder and winds had started yesterday evening, bled into the morning and though the lightning and winds eased, the rain lasted well through the afternoon. No one thought the skies would clear by nightfall. Everyone in the city thought tonight’s festival would have to wait. Yet the clouds have dissipated and the ocean has calmed and though the cobblestone streets are still wet and fraught with murky puddles, the music has started and the crowds have gathered. 

The festival has begun.

And, if it is anything like last year’s, it will not end until sunrise.

Good. Wonpil will need that much time. At the very least.

He pauses at the corner of a relatively busy intersection and, for several moments, watches as the townspeople shuffle up the street in their best, brightest, fanciest clothing. Some of them are drunk already although the town square where the festival's held is still a few blocks down. He waits until there is a gap in the procession and darts across the street to the alley across the way. This is his family’s turf, the Kims. He knows these winding roads. He knows most of these townspeople by name and by occupation. The emblem emblazoned on nearly every sign and flag and woman’s brooch is that of his own bloodline. He is the heir to it all. Not exactly a kingdom but it is still territory that his family owns, people his family rule over. And because he is the only son, because he is _the only one left_ , the Kim family keeps him in the main house like a bird in its cage and treats him like a child in its crib, even though he is a man four years away from thirty.

This is why the love he has must be kept secret or else he’ll break his father’s already ailing heart in two.

Wonpil uses the noise and distraction of the celebration to his advantage. He avoids the main throughways, circumnavigates the town’s crowded square and takes running jumps to clear the narrower canals that cut through the side streets.

It is a long, long trek but he remembers who he is running to, so he keeps going.

It takes some time, well over an hour in such a large city, but Wonpil reaches one of the southern bridges at the edge of the Kim territory.

The canal here is far too wide to leap across and the neighborhood on the other side of the curved, stone bridge isn’t all too welcoming of anyone with Kim blood flowing through their veins but Wonpil doesn’t need to cross the bridge. He needs to get under it.

So he walks up to the edge of the canal wall, finds a small gap in the railing, drops to his knees and slips through the opening and then, carefully, slowly, with what little upper body strength he has, climbs down to the water of the canal that is black with night and still like glass.

“Wonpil,” comes a soft whisper from off to his left.

Wonpil looks down just in time to spot movement in the dark shadow under the bridge. He’s only caught a glimpse of it in the poor lighting but Wonpil sees such a face in his dreams. He’ll recognize it anywhere. “Younghyun? Is that you?” He does not know why he is surprised when this is exactly who he’s looking for in the exact place they planned to meet.

The face reappears and, along with it, the dark shape of the gondola Younghyun sits in. “Sunset has long passed. You are late,” the older man chastises. “By over two hours! Dowoon will think we’ve left him behind.”

“Like he will ever believe we’d abandon him.”

Younghyun sighs. He knows it is the truth. “What took you, my love?”

Wonpil climbs down a little farther. The stone of the canal walls is still wet from the rain and it is a miracle that his delicate hands and thin shoes find purchase in the grout. “Several of my uncles and aunts came over. Even my famous cousin Jaehyung. I was forced to show my face and entertain. I did not get an opportunity to slip away until they were halfway through their third card game.” And he can only hope they’ll take the party out of the house and to the square. If they find his bed empty this early in the night, they’ll have every guard in town searching for his ass.

Younghyun says, “Leave it to the Kims to throw a city-wide party that only half of the city is invited to.”

“Oh, hush. Like you Kangs don’t host celebrations all of the time that neither Dowoon nor I can attend.” 

It is Younghyun’s turn to huff, “Oh, hush.” If only their love wasn’t so forbidden.

If only forbidden love didn't taste so honey sweet.

Now that he’s climbed a little lower and the angle is a bit different, Wonpil can see further into the dark, hidden space beneath the bridge. The Kang family’s side of town is properly lit yet the gold light of the burning lamps barely manages to reach this far down into the canal. Still, Wonpil can more clearly see Younghyun standing in the gondola, his dark hair damp and curly and pressed to his forehead. His eyes shine bright. His smile shines brighter. Wonpil could mistake him for a star if he stood just a little closer to the sky.

Younghyun places his wooden oar in the bottom of the boat and then holds out both of his arms. Wiggles his fingers. “Jump and I will catch you.”

And there is so much trust in their relationship that Wonpil does not hesitate to let go of the canal wall and leap towards his love.

Easily, Younghyun catches him, arms wrapped around Wonpil’s waist, though their combined weight and erratic movement tips the gondola so dangerously that Wonpil fears it’ll dump them into the cold, brackish water of the canal. But Younghyun is accustomed to handling boats and he squats to the deck to lower their center of gravity. It only takes seconds after that for the gondola to stop rocking. They sit there for a moment, knees pressed into wood, chests squeezed together so tightly that they can feel each other's heartbeats. Several seconds too late, Younghyun mumbles, “I’ve got you,” into Wonpil’s ear.

“Yes, indeed,” Wonpil answers with a blush. “Wrapped tight around your little finger.”

“I don’t have you around my finger just yet,” Younghyun responds with a dirty smirk. Then he tilts his head forward and presses his mouth to Wonpil’s. The kiss is warm. Delicate. Soft. It makes Wonpil close his eyes and sigh into Younghyun’s mouth. Makes him reach out a hand and clutch at the collar of Younghyun’s shirt. Younghyun holds Wonpil in his arms like he is delicate and precious and Wonpil swoons at the feeling of being so adored. When Younghyun pulls away, he does not stop smiling.

Wonpil can’t help but to admire him. Younghyun’s pretty, red mouth. His deep, brown eyes. His round, gentle face. Wonpil unhands Younghyun’s collar and then holds his fingers up to Younghyun’s cheek and says, unbidden, “You’re beautiful.”

Younghyun laughs away the compliment. “And we are very late.” He gives Wonpil one more kiss on the corner of his mouth and then pulls back. He gently unravels his arms from around Wonpil’s slim waist and smooths down the front of Wonpil’s jacket like anyone will notice the miniscule wrinkles in the dark. Younghyun says, “Let’s get going.”

Wonpil watches him lift the oar and stand up. He shuffles to the rear of the gondola, moving terribly far out of arm’s reach. Wonpil misses his warmth already. But at least he can admire the shape of Younghyun’s legs in those thin, body-hugging trousers. At least he can take notice of the leather belt cinched tight around Younghyun’s waist, the simple sword sheathed and resting against his left hip. The Kangs are the most affluent family in the city and, by far, the oldest and most influential. Craftsmen. Architects whose brilliant designs put roofs over the heads of lawmakers and landowners and socialites. Urban planners who have built the canals and bridges that slice through every street of the city. The Kang family's money is vast and towers high, casting everyone else in shadow, yet Younghyun wears a simple, white linen shirt and the plainest black vest. The size and the fit is off just enough for Wonpil to instinctively know that the clothes are not tailored for Younghyun’s shape. He is disguised just like Wonpil is disguised. Except Younghyun’s allowed himself one small, glittery luxury: his earrings. Silver and shaped like stars. 

Younghyun dips the oar into the water and, with a grunt of effort, gets the boat moving down the canal.

It’s a relaxing, romantic ride. The rhythmic dip of the oar in the water. The slosh of the water against the stone canal walls. The uninterrupted view of the stars.

They have a long, long way to go and Wonpil is grateful that they love each other enough for the long silence to pass between them without any awkwardness.

Wonpil takes the time to glance up at the city as they row past it. 

This city is made for artists, he’s always been told. And that art can be seen in every nook and cranny. In the colorful paint on the stucco walls. The artfully patterned fences that separate properties. He hears the music from the festivities echo down to him. Flutes and clarinets and an accordion. An operatic voice. Female. Soprano. Wonpil catches whiffs of grilled food, of baked sweets, of too-sweet wine. He hears the whoops and hollers of the crowd as they clap in time to the beat of the music. As they dance.

It kills Wonpil on the inside a little, hearing all of that joy, because he so badly wants to join the festivities and, actually, has every right to. He wants to show Younghyun such things. He wants to show Dowoon such things. But if the Kim family hears word of a Kang or a Yoon on their turf, Wonpil will be forced to watch as the loves of his life are run through with a sword. He looks up at Younghyun then. He looks up at this man who he’s fallen in love with and who has somehow fallen in love with him and he hates that they must keep this love secret. That it can only exist beneath the glow of the moon. Beneath rainfall and storm clouds. Under the blackest shadows.

If only they were born in different bodies - with different blood in their veins - and perhaps, then, they can love each other under the light of day as well.

But such a thought is only safe as a dream.

Their families are at war, generations-old enemies, he reminds himself. And even being caught in this gondola together is enough of an offense for either family to cross the bridge, swords drawn, and spill innocent blood in the streets.

“Nothing can tear us apart,” Younghyun says, as if he’s read Wonpil’s troubled, stormy thoughts. “I promise you.”

And Wonpil says, “I believe you,” because he trusts Younghyun that much.

The canals are like a maze, forking and splitting, criss-crossed by bridges, darkened by tunnels, severed by waterfalls. Some sections are so narrow that Wonpil can reach out his hands and nearly touch both sides. Other sections are so wide that Wonpil can squint and imagine that they are out at sea and that there is nothing but water around them. It’s so easy to get lost down here, he thinks, when you see such a familiar city from such an unfamiliar angle… but Younghyun knows the canals and paddles them forward confidently. The effort makes sweat dampen the front of his shirt, the nape of his neck. But the anticipation of what awaits them at the end makes him grin and sing a lilting, wordless tune that echoes up to the night sky.

Every now and then, Wonpil does see some landmark he recognizes: the colorful flags of the fish market, the stark white stone of the bell tower, the massive staircase of the great library. It helps him orient himself as the minutes pile up to an hour. And then well past it. The landmarks help him understand that they’ve left the Kang family’s turf in the south and have travelled to the eastern territories.

When they’ve reached their destination - a narrow strip that passes by the largest, oldest church in the city - Younghyun slows the boat, works them towards the canal wall and brings them to a stop in the dark mouth of a tunnel that goes beneath the church's grand courtyard.

They wait.

Patiently for the first five minutes.

Impatiently for the next five minutes.

Time is of the essence. More hours than they wish have already slipped past. They have this one stolen night of time together until sunrise. But it is still summer. The nights are still short. Every minute they sit idle is a minute wasted.

It is Wonpil who leans over the side of the boat and whispers, “Dowoon?” into the dark of the old stone tunnel. “Dowoon, are you here? We are sorry for being so late.”

When he’s greeted by only silence, he tightens his grip on the side of the boat in worry. Are they really so late that Dowoon thought they’d left him? Has he gone back home? No! It will take weeks upon weeks to write their coded letters, sneak them out of their houses and leave the envelopes in their secret places around the city. It will take weeks of back and forth correspondence to settle on another date and time that aligns with the empty slots in their schedules. If they don’t see each other tonight, who knows how long it will be until they can see each other again? It took nearly the whole season just to coordinate tonight’s escapade.

“Dowoon,” Wonpil repeats more incessantly. “Dowoon?” But whispering does not seem to be enough.

Younghyun places down his oar, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, sharply, “Dowoon!”

Wonpil shushes him. They cannot be too loud. There is no festival on this side of town. There is no music to cover their noise. They cannot be caught. Not out here. Not together.

But, fortunately, there is a soft sound from deeper inside of the tunnel. A groggy voice. Low. Sweet like the nectar that drips from flowers. “Wonpil? Younghyun?”

Wonpil sags to the bottom of the boat in relief. It is Dowoon. Of course he’s waited. Why wouldn’t he?

There’s the gentle pit-pat-pit-pat of footsteps and then Dowoon steps out of the darkness and into the dull, yellow moonlight. Handsome. Striking. Almost too good for either of them. “You two are so late that I’ve managed a nap,” he says with an annoyed roll of his eyes.

“Good,” Younghyun tells him. “Now you won’t fall asleep on us like last time.”

Dowoon gives him the middle finger. A crass action considering his family name.

Wonpil stands, props a foot up on the edge of the boat and holds out a chivalrous hand. “I take all of the blame for our tardiness.”

“Now we know who to punish,” Dowoon says easily. He grips Wonpil’s hand, steadies himself and then drops down onto the boat. At least the thing doesn’t tilt and rock beneath them this time. 

Lovingly, Wonpil raises his free hand and gently pushes Dowoon’s hair out of his face. It is freshly washed, Wonpil notes, and smells like rosewater. Wonpil gets up on his tiptoes and kisses the center of Dowoon’s forehead. Oh God. He is so enamored by this man. So utterly, completely charmed. “Like either of you have the heart to punish me,” Wonpil states. His lips brush gently across Dowoon’s smooth, scented skin. He pulls back to look Dowoon in the face.

“I don’t have the heart to,” Dowoon answers him, “but perhaps I have the mouth to. And the fingers.”

Wonpil frowns.

The expression gets a chuckle out of Dowoon and he peels himself out of Wonpil’s grip to cross the small boat towards Younghyun. He easily presses a kiss to the man’s jaw. “Look at how sweaty you are. Let me guess,” he says, “he’s made you do all of the work?”

Younghyun shoots Wonpil a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’ll have to make up for the unfair division of labor later.”

Dowoon snickers.

They tease him but Wonpil knows they love him. 

“Sorry we are late,” Younghyun says, suddenly serious. “We hate to have made you wait.”

“As if a relationship like ours does not require godlike patience,” mumbles Dowoon. He kisses Younghyun again but, this time, on the mouth. It’s short and chaste. Not too much more than a peck.

Younghyun pulls away to say, “Then let’s be impatient tonight. Let us not hold back.” He kisses Dowoon again with far less gentleness. He sucks on Dowoon’s bottom lip and laps at Dowoon’s front teeth with his tongue. Eager. Desperate. Hungry. As if the world will end tomorrow.

Wonpil gets seated and watches, unblinking. A one-man audience for a spectacular show.

Breathless, Dowoon pulls away. “You’ve always had a way with that mouth. And I don't just mean your words.” 

Younghyun begins rowing again, but they’ve hardly breached the moonlight on the far end of the tunnel before Dowoon wrenches the oar from his hands and tells him to go sit and rest.

Gratefully, Younghyun leaves the task of rowing to Dowoon and crosses from the stern of the boat to her bow. First on his feet, and then on his hands and knees, before he lowers his head onto Wonpil’s lap and sighs. When Wonpil makes no immediate move to tend to him, Younghyun sighs all over again. Louder and more dramatic. When Wonpil still does not move, Younghyun sighs a third time, reaches out to grab Wonpil by the wrist and then moves the man’s hand to his hair.

He’s like a spoiled rotten puppy, Wonpil thinks. But he will do anything on this earth to oblige him.

Wonpil cards his fingers through Younghyun’s hair. The bluish-black locks are mildly sticky with sweat but Wonpil ignores the discomfort to massage Younghyun’s scalp. To scratch him right above his left ear where Wonpil knows he likes it best.

Younghyun hums in contentment and shifts a little. The movement reveals how few buttons of his shirt are done up and Wonpil is exposed to the tanned, muscular planes of Younghyun’s abdomen. Wonpil knows he is allowed to stare. He’s touched and kissed and explored every bit of Younghyun’s skin. From his head to his toes. But he still averts his eyes. Keeps his gaze on Younghyun’s face. A few moments pass before Wonpil asks, “What is it?”

Younghyun hasn’t taken his eyes off of him yet. “I just love to look at you,” he replies. “Stay still so that I may write a song about you in my head.”

Wonpil runs a thumb across Younghyun’s cheek. “How sappy.” 

“Like you haven’t painted us,” Younghyun gets him back. "Like I haven't seen your works of us in the galleries."

“It’s all abstract,” Wonpil defends himself. “It’s all symbolism. Faceless nudes. You only know that you two are the subjects because I have told you.” And abstraction is all that he can afford when he puts his burning love to the canvas. It would be a death sentence for them all if he rendered either of their faces in oil, if anyone in the Kim family took notice of the love and care with which he paints their features. “You have it easy, Younghyun. At least identities cannot be revealed through chord progressions.”

Younghyun lifts a hand, brushes it across Wonpil’s chin, lowers it back to his side.

The brief contact is grounding in a way and reminds Wonpil that it doesn’t really matter if he can’t paint his loves because what’s more important is to be able to touch them. To be able to breathe them in and feel their warmth and to drink of their love. What is most important is to be able to look at them.

Wonpil glances up to watch Dowoon row.

Where Younghyun handles the oar with care - almost with reverence - and guides the boat with a gentle but steady touch, Dowoon is all about speed. All about power. As if his only goal is to slice through the water and get them to their destination in the quickest time. Wonpil giggles. It’s a little charming how such techniques transfer over to their kissing. To their fucking. And it’s even more delightful how both methods have their uses.

Dowoon senses Wonpil’s eyes on him and takes his attention off of the canal ahead of them to give it all to Wonpil. 

The Yoon family is relatively new to their elevated social status, to their territory and money and privilege. They've only had it a mere decade. Most people in the city call it luck. Dowoon’s father calls it a lifetime of planning coming to fruition. Of plans within plans. A reward for so piously following the word of the Lord. The Yoon family’s rise to power is so new that Dowoon still remembers his early childhood in near-poverty and how, in his teenage years, all of that swiftly changed. Practically overnight. Dowoon still remembers when the Kim family merged with the Park family through marriage and how such a political move cemented the Kim family’s place as the Kang family’s only rivals. But, more importantly than that, Dowoon remembers the morning when he first saw one of Wonpil’s paintings basking in the gold light of the outdoor market at dawn. He remembers the sunny, breezy afternoon he first heard Younghyun’s guitar playing in one of the town squares while doing errands with the nuns.

And Dowoon definitely remembers that very first evening where he lazed in the tub at home, ignoring the Herculean task of bathing to spend an hour with his hand around his cock, promising himself that he would have them both. At the same time or not at all.

“What are you thinking about,” Wonpil asks to break the silence.

Dowoon blinks as if freed from a spell and then doubles down on his movements with the oar to prevent the boat from colliding with the canal wall and dumping them all into the cold, watery abyss.

“Isn’t it obvious,” Younghyun says from Wonpil’s lap. “He’s thinking of that pretty cock of yours.”

At that, Wonpil laughs. His eyes catch the glow of the yellow moon low in the sky. “How strange is it that the supreme bishop’s son dreams of cock?”

“It’s not strange at all,” Dowoon grunts. “What’s strange is how the church teaches us not to love and touch our own bodies.”

“Don’t you worry about all of that,” Younghyun tells him. “I will love and touch your body enough for the both of us. For all three of us.”

“Ssshh,” Wonpil hisses. Because their laughter and dirty jokes are loud and will most certainly carry through the city’s quiet streets. There are still plenty of people out and about - Wonpil’s seen them - but the only thing keeping the three men in the boat safe is the fact that everyone they pass is looking up at the stars as opposed to down into the canal.

How quickly will the three of them be recognized if they do get caught? How fast will word spread of a Kang, a Yoon and a Kim being together, cocks in each other’s mouths? How much blood will be spilled before morning?

The canals will run red.

Fortunately, Wonpil has no more time to swim in anxiety. They’ve reached the far eastern edge of the city. Outside of any one family's territory. There are no houses here. No shops. No gas lanterns casting terribly orange light. In this sliver of unclaimed space, it’s just the empty mouths of the canals as they spread wide to accommodate the docks. The greenish water of the canals meets the bluish water of the sea in a visible, murky line. A wave off of the ocean rocks the small wooden boat as Dowoon steers them towards the distant end of the longest dock. 

The harbor is quiet and unlit and statue-still at this deep hour of the night. Wonpil hears crickets and frogs. He finds comfort in the gentle lapping of the waves against the docks. Even with the fat yellow moon hanging above them, the three men are but formless silhouettes against the mirror of the water. Against the tapestry of the brilliant stars.

This is the one place in the entire city where these three may relax. Where they may indulge.

Younghyun sits up, stands, hoists himself up onto the dock and helps Dowoon with the ropes to moor the small boat. Younghyun helps Dowoon up out of the boat and then the both of them lift Wonpil. 

They stand in a close huddle, arms over shoulders, breathing in each other’s familiar warmth and scent. Even this much is enough, Wonpil thinks. Even this little bit of simple comfort and joy is a salve that soothes the wounds of their separation. 

Even though it is enough, it won’t be all they share.

Dowoon initiates. 

He leans forward, presses his pink mouth to Younghyun’s collarbone, then lifts his head to kiss Younghyun’s throat, his jaw, his chin and - at long last - his mouth. The kiss is hot to watch. Younghyun moans into it. They grope at each other as if attempting to swallow each other whole. Then Younghyun breaks the kiss, breathing hard.

Dowoon mutters, “you mad man,” but it is clearly a compliment to his skill.

Younghyun turns to Wonpil then and Wonpil eagerly tilts his head back and lets himself be kissed. Lets Younghyun press his undulating tongue between his lips, between his teeth, and then up against his own tongue. Younghyun’s tongue tastes cool like fresh peppermint and he presses it to the roof of Wonpil’s mouth, knowing he’s going for the man’s weakness. Wonpil’s knees buckle beneath him and threaten to drop him onto the docks, but Dowoon’s solid arm wraps around Wonpil’s hip and keeps him upright. For the moment.

Younghyun pulls away. He is the one who started the kiss but he whimpers like he’s the one being robbed of more.

Wonpil breathily repeats, “you mad man.”

“Aren’t all artists mad,” Younghyun asks. “Are not all three of us mad here together? Doing this? Our lives on the line?”

It's a casual joke to mask the severity of their passionate crimes.

Dowoon snorts back a laugh. His already red lips are even redder and half-swollen from being kissed and bitten. “You do not know madness until you’ve mastered the art of laundering your soiled bed sheets every morning without attracting the suspicions of an entire convent of nuns.”

They are alone, the three of them. Far from any houses or streets, far from any prying eyes, but Younghyun still whispers conspiratorially, “I’ve nearly injured both my wrists from how many times I’ve worked myself off into my bed sheets each night, waiting for this day.”

“Funny,” Wonpil states. “I’ve been purposefully keeping my hands out of my sleep pants. That way, I will have all the more to offer you two.”

“You better be capable of backing up such words,” Dowoon exhales. Right into Wonpil’s ear.

It’s a warm night but Dowoon’s sudden proximity makes Wonpil shudder like it’s winter.

Younghyun is the first to undress. He steps back and his fingers go to his pinstripe vest. He pulls the cheap thing off of his shoulders and lays the smooth cloth across the rough, splintered surface of the dock. Then his fingers go to the last remaining buttons on his shirt and makes easy work of them.

Wonpil is satisfied with watching him strip, with watching the torturously slow reveal of Younghyun’s abdomen, but Dowoon’s fingers find Wonpil’s chin and turn his head until they face each other. They meet eyes. 

Dowoon breathes out, “my turn.”

And Wonpil closes the distance between their mouths and kisses him. Dowoon moans. First in surprise at Wonpil’s forwardness and then in pleasure as he slots their lips more comfortably together and deepens the kiss. Puzzle pieces snapping into place. Wonpil sets their speed and Dowoon follows. It’s a slow kiss. Sweet and thick like molasses. They come up for air in rhythmic gasps like trained swimmers before diving back in for more and they do not part until Younghyun noisily clears his throat to obtain their attention.

The two of them turn in unison.

Younghyun stands naked before them, holding his arms out as if his body is a trophy of smelted gold.

It is.

Beneath the starlight, he’s a true marvel to gaze upon. His wide shoulders. His thick biceps and beefy pectorals. His wide hips and muscular thighs. The light dusting of hair that trails between his rigid abs, circles his navel and joins the bush at his crotch. His cock is already hard. Lined with veins, thick at the head. It’s long and pretty with a sloping upward curve. It surprises Wonpil how quickly Dowoon breaks away from his arms to dive towards Younghyun, grab hold of the man’s hips in both hands and noisily slurp down the reddened meat of his cock.

It’s a beautiful sight, Dowoon’s spit-wet lips wrapped around Younghyun’s girth as he chokes and fights his own gag reflex to swallow it.

Wonpil could watch. Wonpil should watch. But instead, he undresses himself.

With the other two so preoccupied, he does not bother to be sensual about it. He pulls the lightweight, tailored jacket from off of his shoulders. He shakes it out and adds it to their slowly growing nest of clothing at the end of the dock. He makes minor adjustments to the placement of Younghyun's discarded sword, shifting it out of arm's reach. Then he unties the strings of his lacey, embroidered shirt until the collar loosens from around his throat. He pulls the garment up and over his head. Then that too joins the clothing on the dock. He doesn’t need to be neat but he still takes his time to smooth out the sleeves.

Dowoon takes such an opportunity to push Younghyun back a little so that he can more properly kneel between the man’s legs. His knees press into the soft cotton of their discarded clothes and then he takes Younghyun’s cock all the more deeper into his throat.

Wonpil runs a hand down his own skinny, wiry torso. His palms are oddly hot against his skin and he sighs in pleasure as his fingers flit across his nipples. Though the air is warm, the breeze off of the ocean has a chill edge to it. The promise of autumn. Very well. He will simply warm himself between the bodies of his lovers. Wonpil drags his hand towards the waistband of his artistic, wide-legged pants and yanks them down his calves. He steps out of them, adds the fabric to their pile and then peels his heels out of his thin, leather shoes.

Now he is naked beneath the moon and the stars and he feels Younghyun’s hot, hungry gaze fall on him. Warm him.

Wonpil moves towards the other two. One step, he’s on the cold, hard wood of the sun-bleached dock. The next step, his toes curl into the soft fabric of Younghyun’s shirt, the material still warm from his body heat. Wonpil gasps at the stark difference in texture beneath his feet. Then he drops to his knees and stretches out on his stomach across their clothes. He expects to have the time to get comfortable and stretch. Perhaps stroke himself to full hardness while the fingers of his other hand scissor his hole open, watching Dowoon and Younghyun pleasure each other, but before he can even completely roll over onto his back, Younghyun grabs a fistful of Dowoon’s hair and pulls the man off of his cock. It slips free of Dowoon’s mouth with a wet noise and the tip drips with saliva and precum.

“Hey,” Dowoon complains. “I’m not finished with you.”

“And we have yet to begin with you,” Younghyun tells Dowoon. “Now strip and join us.” Then he’s turning his attention to Wonpil. There’s that ravenous look in his eyes again and, spread out under his gaze like this, Wonpil feels like a sweet dessert about to be devoured. Spoonful by messy, sticky spoonful.

He is right.

Younghyun drops to his hands and knees on their pile of clothes, leans over Wonpil’s crotch and slurps the man’s cock into his mouth.

Wonpil’s toes curl. The muscles in his legs spasm. He’s not even hard yet! Younghyun’s skillful tongue quickly makes that statement untrue, however, and with each purposefully slow bob of his head, Wonpil can look down and see how his blood fills out his cock and makes Younghyun stretch his lips wider and wider to take it. How long has it been since they’ve done this? How many days have passed since Younghyun’s sucked him dry? Wonpil whimpers and writhes on top of their mountain of clothes. He has to get used to this feeling again. He has to grow acclimated to the depths of Younghyun’s warm mouth, to the movements of his tongue, to the contractions of his throat. It’s as if he is being sucked off for the first time all over again. That’s how firecracker-hot his nerves burn. That’s how sharp the tingles that race up his gut and to his chest spark.

Dammit. If only he could take Younghyun’s cock for the first time again, feel it press so far deep into him that he imagines it’s in his belly. He wants to feel that foreign pleasure-pain work through his system for the first time again, dancing through his body with so much purpose that he cums without touching himself. 

He hears a gasp. Wonpil looks up, right into Dowoon’s eyes as the man stands above them. He’s skipped his vest and bell-sleeve shirt in favor of dropping his pants and undergarments around his ankles. His large cock is in his fist, half-hard, and Wonpil stares at it without shame. He watches Dowoon’s fingers squeeze tight around the base and then slowly wrench their way up to the tip. The skin stretches taut as he pulls. The veins deliciously bulge. Then Dowoon twists his fist around the dark mushroom head before starting the journey back down.

It is a magnificent display of his manhood.

A moan slips out of Wonpil’s mouth without warning as Younghyun’s tongue flicks at the sensitive, hairless skin beneath Wonpil’s balls. It’s a quiet plea for more attention so Wonpil gives it to him. He puts his hand at the crown of Younghyun’s head and squeezes gently as Younghyun licks a stripe up the underside of Wonpil’s straight, skinny cock. Younghyun tilts his head and the two of them make brief eye contact before Younghyun opens his mouth and slides Wonpil’s cock down his throat. He goes and goes and goes until his nose is pressed flat into Wonpil’s pubic hair, until Wonpil’s cock is wedged into the back of his throat. And still he does not choke or gag.

Wonpil throws his head back as a full-body shiver yanks his spine off of their pile of clothes. He opens his eyes and Dowoon is looking straight at him. Straight through him.

The man’s stepped out of his pants and has taken off the rest of his clothes in the few seconds Wonpil wasn’t looking. 

Where Wonpil’s body is skinny from a life spent reading and painting and studying and gently awaiting the day he’ll be handed his seat of power, where Younghyun’s body is stacked with muscle to tell the story of a man who still must practice swordplay and wrestle and carry bricks to earn his place among his family members, Dowoon’s body is smooth, athletic muscle that’s only recently softened with good, rich, filling food.

“If only I could tell everyone about the three of us,” Dowoon breathes into the night air, “so that the whole city can be jealous of me for being able to look at you two like this.”

Younghyun does not even bother to pull off of Wonpil’s cock to give Dowoon a snarky reply. Wonpil knows he’s got one. But instead of making some joke, Younghyun hums low in his throat and cups Wonpil’s balls in his hand. Kneads them between his calloused fingers.

Even Wonpil has no smart words. They all know the danger that comes with exposing their secret trysts. 

Dowoon kneels next to Wonpil’s head and does not give any other instruction before Wonpil turns his head and leans and leans. Dowoon thrusts his hips forward to close the remaining gap and then Wonpil parts his lips to accept the head of Dowoon’s cock into his mouth. It’s heavy and hot on his tongue and Wonpil sucks on it sweetly, like it is candy that will melt and fill his mouth with fruit flavor. When Dowoon needs more, he shifts his weight on his knees and bucks his hips forward. Dowoon’s cock is wide and Wonpil has to take it in stages. He stretches his lips and flattens his tongue to allow a little bit more in, and then he must tilt his head back and relax his throat to take the rest that he’s capable of. Even then, he cannot reach the base of it and he moans in frustration at how much of Dowoon he is unable to fit his mouth around.

No matter. 

He reminds himself that whatever can’t fit down his throat can most certainly be fucked into his ass. A brand new wave of arousal radiates outward from his stomach at the prospect of being absolutely stuffed full of Dowoon’s cock. He manages to take just a tiny bit more of Dowoon's length before he feels his throat protest. He chokes.

Dowoon gently pulls himself free of Wonpil’s mouth.

Gratefully, Wonpil sucks air into his lungs and swallows a mouthful of spit.

Dowoon waits until Wonpil’s regained his composure before he leans down and kisses him on the mouth almost apologetically.

Wonpil attempts to reach for Dowoon’s cock. If his throat won’t agree, his hands can manage.

Yet Dowoon twists his hips to keep out of Wonpil’s reach. “Time is of the essence,” Dowoon states. “It is far past midnight at this point. We can’t have long before dawn breaks.”

He has a valid point.

Younghyun lifts his head and Wonpil eagerly watches as his cock slides out of Younghyun’s mouth before coming free with a moist pop. The head falls from between Younghyun’s lips and it bounces as it strikes Wonpil’s stomach. Younghyun says, “Let’s not get caught out with our pants down by the fishermen again.”

That had been back in the height of spring, and they’d been so hellbent on pleasuring each other, so stubbornly set on wringing one more orgasm out of each other, that they’d nearly been spotted by the morning crew beneath the glow of the rising sun. The three of them had to untangle themselves from each other, gather their clothes and hide in the shadows of a stack of crab cages for nearly two hours before the docks had cleared enough for them to rush back to their boat.

If they were normal people, perhaps getting caught, perhaps being watched, could be more kindling for the fire that always blazes between them. But because they are a Kim, a Yoon and a Kang, because their three families are all individually capable of tipping the scales in their favor and ruling over the city, getting caught means being the spark that burns the city to ash. 

And what a war that would be, if all three houses raise their swords.

But they will not get caught. They will not be separated.

This love of theirs will exist beneath the shadows and moonlight and constellations forever because nothing will tear them apart. They are bound to each other on a molecular level.

Wonpil rakes a hand through his hair. His skin is damp with sweat and pink from exertion already and they have yet to move too far past foreplay. Younghyun loves it. He loves how pink Wonpil gets. He swears up and down that he can gauge how close Wonpil is to orgasm just by the shade of red his face turns alone. Dowoon, on the other hand, is a bit more primal and simply likes to press his palms down hard on Wonpil’s chest, pull them away and watch his discolored handprints fade from Wonpil’s skin like drying ink on too-thick paper.

Wonpil shoves two fingers into his mouth, coats the digits with spit using figure-8 swipes of his tongue, and then spreads his knees so that he can reach between his legs and press his wet fingertips to the rim of his hole. “Who first,” he asks. “Dowoon? Younghyun?” He tilts his head back, tries to think back. Gasps as his fingers push inside. “Who went first last time?” He always lets them decide. He can never make up his mind. Both ways are so much fun. If Younghyun goes first, it’s easier to get going because of his more average size, and Younghyun usually goes so slow and takes so long that he can milk one orgasm out of Wonpil and have him halfway to his second before he himself cums. Then it’s all that much easier for Dowoon to slowly push himself inside, though that’s a whole other delightful stretch Wonpil must get used to. When Dowoon goes first, on the other hand, they must move very slowly at the start until Wonpil’s body relaxes and opens for him. It takes significant time, yet when Dowoon gets going, when he pounds in and out like his life depends on it, when he stretches Wonpil out and fills him up - once, sometimes twice if he does not stop - they don’t have to wait at all in between turns because Younghyun can just slip inside.

Dowoon puts a hand on Wonpil’s knee and squats between his legs, partially to claim his place, partially to get a better look as Wonpil shoves his fingers into his hole and impatiently works them in a tight circle.

“Actually,” Younghyun says, nudging Dowoon with his shoulder, “I was thinking we do something different.”

Dowoon looks up at him. “Hmm?”

Wonpil pulls his fingers free, lifts them to his mouth, spits on them. “What are you suggesting,” he ponders. Then he reaches down and slides his fingers back in. It’s smoother this time. His rim opens obediently and he manages to push past his second knuckles and twist his finger into an experimental curve. He doesn’t quite reach that sweet spot but he gets close enough for the sensation to make his cock twitch and dribble out a clear little globe of precum. Wonpil moans. His fingers are nice but nowhere near as nice as either of his boyfriend’s cocks.

Dowoon’s patience runs out. “What is it, Younghyun? What do you want to try out?”

“I want--” Younghyun interrupts himself by grabbing a fistful of Dowoon’s hair, pulling him close and sloppily kissing him. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects their bottom lips. “I want you two to fuck me.”

The string between them snaps.

The proposition is so surprising that Wonpil yanks his fingers out of his hole almost too quickly and he shudders as the pleasurable sting of it ripples across his skin. “What?”

“He wants us to fuck him,” Dowoon supplies, as if he actually thought Wonpil hadn’t heard. He puts one hand around his cock, swings the other and playfully spanks Younghyun’s small but perky ass.

“Only if you want to,” Younghyun adds. There’s so little light out here on the docks - even with the large summer moon overhead - but the blush that creeps across his high cheekbones is still apparent.

“I want to,” Dowoon states eagerly. It doesn’t take him much at all. He’s already peppering Younghyun’s chest and stomach with light, dancing kisses as he attempts to lower Younghyun onto his back.

Younghyun resists, though, and keeps himself upright. He turns his inquisitive gaze to Wonpil and holds out an almost beseeching hand. “What do you think?”

And Wonpil doesn’t have to think about it very hard or for very long. He loves how it feels to have a cock inside him - he loves feeling like he’s being pushed to the limit of what he can take - but he also loves to watch Younghyun’s and Dowoon’s faces as they fuck their cocks into him. They look like they are lost in bliss. It must feel like heaven. And he wants a part of it. “Yes. I want to.” He sits up and crawls closer so that he can take Younghyun’s hand. “Very much.”

“Good,” Younghyun says. He raises their clasped hands, kisses Wonpil’s knuckles and then he lets Dowoon push him onto his back. Lets Dowoon cover the rest of his belly and the inner grooves of his thighs with butterfly kisses.

Not wanting to be left out, Wonpil crawls forward and slaps Dowoon’s wide ass several times until the man gets the message and moves aside. Then Wonpil sits himself between Younghyun’s legs. He hedges his knees beneath Younghyun’s thighs to raise his hips a bit. Younghyun looks so different like this. His eyes half-closed, his lips slightly parted. His cock presses into the skin beneath his navel and when he inhales and exhales, the movement drags precum from the tip of his cock across his lower stomach. Wonpil coats his two fingers with a fresh glob of spit and runs them around Younghyun’s tight and clenching rim, like he’s tracing the shape. Like he’s memorizing the color for a painting.

“What brought this on?” Dowoon barely peels his lips off of one of Younghyun’s nipples to ask it. “Why do you suddenly want to take cock?”

Younghyun rests his head back on the cradle of his folded arms like he does not plan to budge an inch while the other two pleasure him. “I can fill an erotic novel with all the things I’ve dreamed up while thinking of you two. Hell, I can fill several different novels and have them printed in bulk, only to watch as the church gathers the tomes and burns the filth.”

“I’ll save a few copies from the fire,” Dowoon continues their hypothetical plans.

“That must be at least three sins,” Wonpil states before spitting fresh moisture on Younghyun’s rim.

Dowoon shrugs it off. “The Lord forgives.”

It feels a little different to be on this side of things, Wonpil decides. To be working someone open as opposed to being the one worked open. And as soon as he slips a finger inside, he understands why Dowoon loves doing this so much. Younghyun is hot and wonderfully tight around him and Wonpil can feel the contracting and relaxing of the muscles as they work almost instinctively to refuse entry for his finger. “Relax, Younghyun,” Wonpil urges him. With his free hand, he massages gentle circles into Younghyun’s hip bone.

“I’m trying,” Younghyun gasps out. “This is my first time, you know. I have not even done this to myself. I trust you two to make it right.”

Dowoon twists around and makes eye contact with Wonpil. An almost devious smile crosses his lips, as if Younghyun’s just laid out a challenge they must work together to overcome. Wonpil nods at him. Dowoon turns back around. “I’ll make you relax,” he announces. And then he leans forward, grips Younghyun by the base of his cock and sucks the rest of the curved length into his mouth.

The suddenness of it makes Younghyun squirm, gasp and raise his knees towards his chest. It is the exact opposite of relaxing but the new angle of his hips allows Wonpil to get his finger past that stubborn ring of muscle.

He pushes in. Slowly. Carefully. Needing to make this feel good. He thrusts his finger through the warm loop of muscle until he’s got Younghyun choking on air beneath him. Until he’s got his finger buried in Younghyun completely, up to the third knuckle. 

Younghyun tenses again and his muscles grip Wonpil’s finger tight.

Now it is Wonpil’s turn to gasp. The sensation is so familiar. He’s fucked himself countless times before, of course, but there is less strain on his wrist and fingers this way. And it is a completely different feeling to bring someone else pleasure than to wring it from yourself. “How does it feel,” Wonpil asks.

Younghyun lowers his feet back to their jumbled pile of clothing. He relaxes just a tad but it is enough give for Wonpil to start the slow slide of his finger out of Younghyun’s hole.

The man on his back gasps out, “I can feel it… But at the same time, I can hardly feel it. It's so... It's so nice.”

Wonpil pushes his finger back in. There is less resistance. Younghyun’s body no longer feels like it is trying to force him out. Instead, it feels like it is trying to suck him in. Wonpil works like that for a while. He pushes his finger in and out, in and out, applying fresh spit when the slide goes dry.

Meanwhile, Dowoon keeps up the aggressive, noisy slurping of Younghyun’s cock. He hollows his cheeks and sucks his way up one side, goes around the head and then down the other side. He spits and licks and sucks until the whole thing is red and damp and dripping from his ministrations. He’s ready to keep going but Younghyun has to wrap a hand around his own cock and pull it away from Dowoon’s mouth. 

“Oh, come on,” Dowoon whines at the loss. “Let me give you your first orgasm of the night. I’ve missed your taste.” He goes for Younghyun’s cock again but the older man is firm and pushes him away by the chin. Dowoon complains again, “Come on!”

“Can’t you wait until I have a cock in me first?”

Dowoon twists to face Wonpil. “Need help?”

And Wonpil nearly refuses him but spits the protest out across his finger instead. “Sure.”

Dowoon clambers over Younghyun’s bent leg, moves Wonpil’s arm out of his way and presses flush to Wonpil’s side, shoulder against shoulder, hip against hip, knee against knee. His body heat reminds Wonpil of how chilly he is out here, naked in this wind. “How tight is he,” Dowoon questions. He shoves a finger in his mouth until it’s soaked and then leans forward to line it up against Younghyun’s hole.

“He’s stretching out,” Wonpil answers.

Younghyun spreads his legs to give them both a bit more room.

Wonpil works his finger out until just the tip is inside. Then Dowoon presses his finger against Wonpil’s and, wordlessly, they push in simultaneously. 

The intrusion makes Younghyun throw his head back, makes him buck his hips up off of Wonpil’s knees. Wonpil worries for a few seconds but then Younghyun pushes his hips down onto their fingers, lifts up, pushes down onto their fingers again. Like he needs them that terribly already. “That feels good. God! That feels good.”

Dowoon laughs at his reaction. “We haven’t even started yet, love. Not really.”

And Wonpil is reminded of the fact that he’ll get to fuck Younghyun tonight. 

The two of them find new and interesting ways to move. For a while, they fuck their fingers in at the same time, but then Dowoon purposefully slows his movements until he’s pushing in while Wonpil slides his finger out. Based on Younghyun’s whimpering, he likes the second technique better. Wonpil presses in a second finger, giving Younghyun three in total. It’s not even as tight a fit as he thinks it would be. Younghyun takes him easily. He’s found the right angle to hold his hips and spread his legs so that he can completely relax for the two of them.

Dowoon turns his head. He sticks out his tongue.

Wonpil turns to face him, follows Dowoon’s tongue to his lips. They kiss. 

It’s different. They’ve kissed a hundred times after all of these months. A thousand times. A million. But it feels so different when they are pressed this close together, when they are twisting their fingers around inside Younghyun’s hole.

Dowoon pulls away. Out of breath. 

“God, you two are so hot,” Younghyun says. 

Wonpil bites back a giggle. “That’s my line when I’m watching the two of you.” He realizes his fingers have stilled inside of Younghyun. The friction of Dowoon’s finger sliding against his own has warmed his hand and dried the slide. He spits. He presses his fingers in. Feels Dowoon’s finger twist against his. Press upward.

Something strange happens then. 

Younghyun sucks in a deep breath. Holds it. He opens his eyes wide. He tenses up, his hole grips their fingers tight.

Wonpil is about to ask if something is wrong, if they hurt him in some way, but then Younghyun lets go of the breath he was holding and all three of them watch in quiet awe as Younghyun cums. A dribble at first, but then a burst of gooey white that shoots through the air so high and so hard that it nearly gets Younghyun in the eye. The third and fourth shots are less formidable, striking Younghyun across his chin and across his chest respectively.

All goes still.

The orgasm passes and Younghyun practically unspools across their pile of clothing. “What…” His voice comes out as a frog’s croak. He clears his throat and tries again. “What was that?”

Dowoon rolls his eyes. “An orgasm, silly. Is it your first time having one?” Then his joking tone turns serious. Desperate. “Please don’t tell me it’s your first time having one.”

“It’s not.” Younghyun’s eyes roll to the back of his head and then his whole body shivers with a rather delayed aftershock of pleasure. He squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them. Looks first at Dowoon and then at Wonpil. “I barely felt it coming. Sorry. I thought I’d last longer than this. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Wonpil tells him. “It’s a sensitive place. Almost like it is designed for this.”

It takes a moment for Younghyun to stop twitching. “One of you just pressed something inside of me like a button and then I just--” He gestures to the cum dripping down his cheek and chin.

“That was probably me,” Dowoon tells him. “Did it feel like this?”

Wonpil feels Dowoon curl his finger upward.

Younghyun clenches his teeth around a groan. He shudders. His softening cock twitches but offers no new spurt of cum. 

Dowoon snorts. “Yeah. That’s what it was.” Then he looks up at Younghyun. He gasps, scandalized. “Wait. Don’t fucking wipe it.” He slips his finger from between Wonpil’s knuckles and pulls it free of Younghyun’s spit-wet hole. Then he crawls over Younghyun’s pliant body, sticks out his tongue and merrily licks up the cum off of Younghyun’s face like it is nothing more unpleasant than dripping ice cream.

Wonpil is still thinking practically here. “Should we switch places?”

Dowoon looks up. A white pool of Younghyun’s cum swirls across the dip of his tongue.

Younghyun waves a hand. “No. No. I still want you two to fuck me. I’ll get hard again. I can cum again.”

“You’re not going to hurt my feelings if you tell me no,” Wonpil says.

“Please fuck me,” Younghyun insists. “I’ve been dreaming of this, Wonpil.” And there is barely concealed desire and excitement in his tone.

There’s no way Wonpil can deny him this - deny either of them this - so he slowly pulls his fingers free and becomes temporarily hypnotized by the way Younghyun’s hole clutches tight around nothing as if it misses him. “Okay.” Wonpil breathes out the syllables and an anticipatory shiver jolts up his spine. He’s ready. He wants this. More than anything. “Roll over. It may be easier to take.” He speaks from experience.

Obediently, Younghyun twists until he’s on his stomach. Until he’s balancing on his elbows and his spread knees. He pushes his tiny, round ass up at Wonpil like an offering.

“Get him good and wet for me,” Dowoon coos, smacking one of Younghyun’s ass cheeks.

Wonpil spits one more good time across Younghyun’s hole and then leans back to grip his cock. It’s not until he tightens his fingers around the shaft that he realizes how long it has gone without being touched or sucked. Doubt settles between his ribs even as he stares at Younghyun’s puckered hole, entranced. Will Younghyun like it? Will Wonpil be any good at this? Then he steels himself. He won’t have any answers to his questions until he tries it. He takes his fingers and smears the last remaining globs of moisture across the head of his cock, then he lines himself up with Younghyun’s hole.

At the movement, Dowoon sits up and crawls towards Wonpil. He leans in close and watches with unblinking eyes as Wonpil hesitates, as he drags the head of his cock in slow circles around Younghyun’s rim. “Need help,” Dowoon asks seriously, not aware of or not caring that Younghyun’s cum is oozing from the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve watched you both enough times,” Wonpil explains himself. He’s not one to adamantly refuse help when he’s unsure of what he’s doing but he’s certain he at least knows how to fuck. His pride won’t let him admit otherwise. “Watch me.” With one hand, he grips Younghyun’s sturdy waist for leverage, digging his fingernails in like he is afraid he will fall. With the other hand, he squeezes the base of his cock to hold it steady as he thrusts his hips forward.

It’s almost as if he and Dowoon haven't stretched Younghyun open at all. His rim once again tightens around his cockhead as if to keep him out.

Dowoon notices. He leans down and kisses the base of Younghyun’s spine. Then his mouth and tongue travels up along the groove of Younghyun’s spine, up his back, before slowing between his shoulder blades. Dowoon slips a hand underneath Younghyun’s body and, because he knows it so well, finds the bud of the man’s nipple on the first squeeze, earning himself a moan from the very back of Younghyun’s throat.

It is enough of a distraction for Younghyun to fall forward onto his shoulders and relax. Wonpil puts a bit more force behind his thrust as he pushes forward. Resistance. Resistance. Resistance. Then the muscles expand and, almost too quickly, too easily, Wonpil’s cock slides inside.

Both Younghyun and Wonpil moan simultaneously. One loud and low, the other hiccuping and high.

They both go still for several seconds until a shiver jerks Wonpil into movement.

“There you go,” Dowoon encourages them. He releases Younghyun’s nipple and drags his hand down Younghyun’s back, over the curve of his ass and across to Wonpil’s belly. “How does it feel,” he asks as his hand traces looping patterns up Wonpil’s torso towards his chest, towards one of his nipples.

“It feels good,” Wonpil exhales. “Better than I thought it would.” Because it does. He can feel Younghyun grip every inch of him. He can feel how Younghyun loosens and tightens around him. And now he knows why Younghyun always throws his head back and shivers the first time he pushes his cock into Wonpil up to the hilt. No matter how many times they’ve done it.

“How does it feel?” Dowoon directs the repeated question at Younghyun but flicks his tongue over Wonpil’s stiffening nipple.

“Just like I’d dreamed,” whines the man with his face pressed into their pile of clothing.

Wonpil pulls out. Slowly. And though he is familiar with his own size, with his own length, he still kneels there in shock as he tilts his hips back and there is still more of his cock left inside. He can’t believe it all fits in so snugly. Tentatively, he thrusts forward again and absolutely sinks into Younghyun’s heat.

Again, they both moan simultaneously. 

Feeling like his nerves are on fire, Wonpil can’t quite tell if he’s close already or not. No wonder Younghyun’s orgasm snuck up on him. When everything feels this good, it’s hard to tell. Wonpil pulls out again, slowly. Not wanting to miss a moment, he stares at his own cock as it slides out, as his shape stretches Younghyun’s rim. He feels the head of his cock slip past Younghyun’s rim and grabs it around the shaft before he falls out entirely. After a mild adjustment of his hips, Wonpil thrusts forward again. He pushes until the heat envelops him entirely. The curse slips off his tongue, “Fuck.”

As if to reward him for a job well done, Dowoon leans towards him, puts a hand around his neck, kisses him. Wonpil parts his lips and lets Dowoon’s tongue into his mouth. He tastes Dowoon, sure, but he also catches bits of Younghyun. Salty and crisp. But in a way that’s entirely different from the sea breeze. Whenever Wonpil tries to set a more frantic, desperate pace for their kiss, Dowoon tightens his grip around Wonpil’s neck and Wonpil backs off until Dowoon’s in control again, moving his tongue slowly and deliberately. Dowoon pulls away, but only slightly. When he commands, “fuck him,” his mouth still moves against Wonpil’s lips.

Wonpil obeys.

He grips Younghyun’s waist in both hands, draws back his hips and then snaps them forward, shoving his cock inside. To go fast feels so different from going slow. Not weirder. Not better. Merely different. Younghyun’s ass is tighter and hotter around his cock than his own fist and the loud slap of his hips against Younghyun’s ass is a sound Wonpil delights in. So he pulls out and then slides back in to make such a sound again. And again. And again.

Dowoon leans over to get a better angle of Wonpil’s cock pounding into Younghyun’s ass and, pleased with what he sees, he wraps his fingers around his thick shaft and strokes himself.

Wonpil keeps going. He marvels at how the slide becomes smoother and easier with each thrust as Younghyun’s body stretches around him. Wonpil moans. He doesn’t even mean to. The noise just leaps from his mouth.

Younghyun trembles underneath him and chokes out the syllables, “W-W-Wonpil.”

It is nothing but his name but Wonpil can still sense the command. Harder. Faster. So he repositions his hands, slides them down off of Younghyun’s waist to grab handfuls of his firm ass instead. He pulls the cheeks apart, like Dowoon always does to him, and fucks his cock inside. He can’t tell if it is his own imagination or not but it feels like he can thrust in just a little bit farther this way, get just a little bit more of his cock in. It’s so good. So hot. So tight. He’s always thought Younghyun was exaggerating when he’d muttered such compliments into Wonpil’s ear but now Wonpil understands. Now he wants to say those things too. “You’re so tight,” he wheezes as he fucks in. “You feel so fucking good.”

“There you go,” Dowoon says again. Like he’s some guru pointing the way towards Wonpil’s enlightenment. “Don’t you love it when it gets like this?” And he shivers like he is the one doing the fucking. Like he is the one who can feel Younghyun’s ass grip his cock. Perhaps he can. Perhaps they are that connected. Dowoon adds, “Go on, love. Stretch him good. You know he needs it for me.” To emphasize his point, he swats the shaft of his cock across the mound of Younghyun’s ass, causing precum to splatter over his skin. Seeing the girth from this angle, seeing the noticeable difference between the size of Dowoon’s cock and his own, it looks to Wonpil like there is no way it can possibly fit. Then he remembers how easily Dowoon fills him, how magical Dowoon’s cock feels plugging him up tight. He wants Younghyun to feel that way too.

Wonpil lifts his hand, smears the sticky fluid of Dowoon’s precum into Younghyun’s skin. “I’ll make it easy for you.” So he keeps going. He keeps fucking. It’s such a simple sensation to lose himself in. The snap of his hips feels almost instinctive. He can tell it won’t be complicated at all to get addicted to this. 

Dowoon kisses Wonpil’s neck. To reward him? To urge him faster? Then he licks at the sweat that gathers across Wonpil’s clavicle. Satiated, he bends over and kisses the nape of Younghyun’s neck while his free hand glides across the small of Younghyun’s back. He presses his hand down hard.

At first, Younghyun doesn’t budge but then he seems to understand the signal. He spreads his knees, arches his back, rotates his hips.

The new angle is good for them both. Yet again, they moan out in unison.

Wonpil’s hips stutter and then slow and then still completely. Hell. He can’t keep going at this rate, at this pace, or he will burst before he’s ready. Before he’s gotten enough. He pulls back a little and thrusts back in but even that little bit of motion nearly tips him over the edge. He focuses on his breathing and tries to calm the boiling water within him before it overflows.

“Think you can handle another,” Dowoon asks. He wobbles across their pile of clothes on his knees until he squats in front of Younghyun’s face.

“Y-yeah,” Younghyun mumbles. 

“It’s yours if you can catch it.” Childishly, Dowoon twists his hips side to side and the momentum causes his fat cock to swing like a pendulum.

Younghyun sticks out a tongue. Manages to lick at it as it swings. But he’s not quite close enough to get into his mouth.

Dowoon teeters closer, bit by bit, but continues to twist and swing his cock like it is just a toy. 

The meaty slap as it hits each side of his hips reminds Wonpil of the slap of his own waist against Younghyun’s ass. He wants to hear that sound again. He pulls out and makes a weak, shallow thrust. It forces Younghyun to fall forward enough, though, that Dowoon’s cock swings back and strikes him across the cheek.

Greedily, Younghyun chases after it with his tongue but when that proves fruitless because Dowoon continues to swing his hips, Younghyun reaches up a hand, grips the shaft tight around the middle and then lowers his mouth around the head.

His movements force Wonpil to inch forward to stay sheathed inside of Younghyun but now, at least, he’s got a slightly thicker pile of clothes beneath his knees. He pulls out nearly all of the way and then thrusts back in. They moan in tandem again but, this time, Younghyun’s moan comes out muffled as he stuffs Dowoon’s cock down his throat.

Wonpil gradually works himself back up to a fast pace and it doesn’t take long before the slap of his hips against Younghyun’s ass sounds like the applause of a watching audience. In fact, Wonpil turns around to look over his shoulder just to make sure that no one’s watching from the far end of the dock.

On Younghyun’s other end, Dowoon thrusts his own hips forward and gasps in delight as Younghyun manages to swallow one more half-inch without choking or gagging. Then he slides out just to watch Younghyun’s lips and tongue drip spit across his shaft. Then he thrusts back into that pretty little mouth and focuses on another part of Younghyun’s face. Like on the way his cheeks fill out. On the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows tiny gulps of air. On the way his eyes squeeze shut as Dowoon reaches the back of his throat.

They work him like that, for a few minutes. They thrust into Younghyun from both ends and Younghyun moans like he absolutely needs these two cocks in him. 

Wonpil’s pace is fast and enthusiastic. Dowoon’s pace is methodical and patient. Like he’s biding his time. Like he’s purposefully keeping his distance from the edge. Wonpil remembers that Dowoon will get his turn soon too and he’s all the more aroused by the idea of watching the two of them fuck like this for the first time. Every grunt and groan Wonpil manages to fuck out of Younghyun’s mouth gets all twisted up around the width of Dowoon’s cock and the garbled sound fuels the speed of Wonpil’s amateurish, shallow thrusts.

Because he’s so hellbent on making Younghyun moan, on making his hips slap hard against Younghyun’s ass, Wonpil doesn’t notice his own orgasm until it’s tightened around his balls and brought his hips to a shaky stop. A squeak hops out of his mouth and cuts through the new silence.

“I know that look,” Dowoon warns. He pulls back until he slides his cock free of Younghyun’s mouth. “Don’t pull out.” He crawls around Younghyun’s body to put a gentle hand on Wonpil’s back. “You have to make him wet for me, remember?”

Wonpil nods. For the moment, his orgasm has retreated. But he still feels the heat of it uncoiling at the bottom of his stomach. He will not last long. Wonpil grits his teeth. Pulls back. Thrusts back in. Pulls back. Thrusts back in. His hips move in jerky, nonrhythmic motions.

Dowoon rubs Wonpil’s back. “Don’t fight it. Let it go. Fuck through it.”

So Wonpil follows his instructions. He slides his cock out of Younghyun’s ass and then back into it. Slow the first few thrusts, like his own body is fragile and it will shatter, but then he readjusts his grip on Younghyun’s waist and picks his speed back up.

He is doomed, however, and only manages a few more lopsided thrusts before his orgasm sneaks up on him like a thief in a dark alley and punches the air out of his lungs. “I’m--”

It doesn’t help that as soon as he opens his mouth, Dowoon is there to kiss him.

Wonpil cums. He spills inside of Younghyun. Pulse after pulse. Filling him. And Wonpil listens to Dowoon’s words and keeps thrusting in and out, in and out, pushing his seed farther in even as his entire body curls up from the sudden oversensitivity. He shakes and trembles. His and Dowoon’s mouths separate with a moist pop and then he collapses forward, forehead to Younghyun’s shoulder blades. “My God,” he exhales. “Younghyun, I’m-- That was-- You were… That was--”

“Amazing,” Younghyun finishes for him. He lowers his hips to the pile of clothes beneath him. He relaxes his back and Wonpil, still shivering from the stimulation, follows him down until he’s draped across the man’s broad back.

Dowoon doesn’t let either of them catch their breaths. He strikes Wonpil hard across the ass, which startles him, makes him tense up, and reminds him that he’s still wedged deep in Younghyun’s hole. “My turn to fuck him,” the archbishop’s son announces. “Don’t let any of that cum drip out.”

Slowly, Wonpil hoists himself up onto his hands and knees, then he rolls off of Younghyun. He shivers from his toes to the crown of his head as his softening cock slips free of that tight warmth and is exposed to the chill in the air.

Dowoon wastes no time rolling Younghyun over onto his back. He fits himself between Younghyun’s legs and lines his cock up with the older man’s ass. White dollops of Wonpil's cum does indeed drip out of Younghyun's clutching hole, but Dowoon merely slides his cock through the mess until the head is sticky and damp from it. He glances up. “Look who's getting hard again,” he teases. 

“Do you need a moment,” Wonpil asks. Because he needs a moment. He needs several moments.

Younghyun reaches out and gives Wonpil’s hand a reassuring squeeze but, to Dowoon, he states, “I’m good. I want you both. I love you both.”

That’s all Dowoon needs to know. He spits fresh moisture across his shaft, takes a second, then spits more at Younghyun’s hole. It all mixes with Wonpil's cum. It all gets bubbly and warm and delicious.

Wonpil’s still weak, still gets tremors through his thighs, but he sits up and crawls across their pile of clothing until he’s looking over Dowoon’s shoulders. As long as he’s been with these men and even this is new for him. He’s always been the one to get fucked by them both so to watch Dowoon line his cock up with Younghyun’s hole is an unprecedented experience. He gasps and marvels at the sight like it is a brilliant, wondrous play being performed at the big, opulent theater in the city's north side.

“God, you’re big,” Younghyun huffs.

Dowoon chuckles. “I haven’t even pushed in yet.” But he’s already gripping Younghyun by the thighs and spreading his legs. He’s already pressing the head of his cock in.

Wonpil watches in apt fascination as Younghyun’s hole twitches and stretches and reddens as Dowoon slowly pushes in. He wonders if that’s what his own ass looks like when Dowoon fucks him and now it makes more sense how Younghyun can jerk off and moan and sometimes cum just from this sight alone.

“Easy, easy,” Dowoon half-whispers. “If you can’t take it, just say so.”

For several long seconds, Younghyun lays there, eyes glazed over and mouth partially open like he’s hypnotized. Then he makes up his mind. He blinks and looks into Dowoon’s questioning gaze with brand new focus. With reignited resolve. “I can take it. I can take every inch of you.”

Dowoon readjusts his grip on Younghyun’s thighs, moves his hands closer to the man’s knees, bends Younghyun's legs a little farther back, a little farther apart. Younghyun’s hips rotate to a different angle and it gives Dowoon the straight shot he needs to resume the inward slide.

“My God,” Younghyun cries out. “I… I…” His chest rises and falls in rapid succession as he scrambles to get his breathing under control.

Wonpil reaches down and wraps his slender fingers around Younghyun’s cock. It’s fully hard again. The curve pronounced. The head purplish-red and already dripping precum across the knuckles of Wonpil’s fingers. Wonpil squeezes it hard until he can feel Younghyun’s pulse race through the veins, then he gives the shaft a jerk, twisting his palm over the head. When that doesn’t seem to be enough, he tightens his grip, strokes down to the base and then back up to the tip, faster. Again and again.

Like magic, Younghyun melts. Relaxes.

Dowoon’s breath hitches, every muscle in his arms goes taut. “Fuck. I can feel him stretching out for me.”

Wonpil dips his head so he can halfway crawl beneath one of Dowoon’s arms. Keeping a slow up-and-down pace with the hand around Younghyun’s shaft, Wonpil spits rather ungracefully across the place where Dowoon’s squeezing into Younghyun’s hole. This close up, he sees first hand how Younghyun's rim loosens and stretches around the girth of Dowoon's shaft - gluttonous - sucking in more and more. Dowoon shudders and moans and, somehow, Younghyun’s body opens up enough to let the rest of Dowoon’s cock inside.

Younghyun shouts loudly but muffles himself with both hands across his mouth.

Dowoon wastes no time drawing his hips back, pulling halfway out and then thrusting back in again. Sort of as a test. Younghyun doesn't flinch or scream. So then he pulls back out, nearly all of the way, and shoves back in, down to the hilt.

Younghyun cries out again and to soften the divide between pain and pleasure for him, Wonpil leans his head down and takes the man’s cock into his mouth. He can handle it much easier than Dowoon’s as he doesn’t have to stretch his mouth as wide, doesn’t have to fight his gag reflex every step of the way. It is easy to wrap his lips around it and suck his way down to the point where it curves and stroke the length that’s left with his hand. Wonpil alternates his movements. Stroking his hand downward as he drags his tongue back towards the head, and then squeezing upward on the shaft with his hand as he slides his mouth down to sit flush against his fingers.

It must help. It must ease the stress. Because it doesn’t take long for Dowoon to be snapping his hips back and forth, back and forth, and for Younghyun to be moaning out both of their names like he’s trying to turn the syllables into lyrics.

Not wanting to make him cum again so fast, Wonpil pulls off of Younghyun’s cock, wipes the spit from his lips, and sits back so he can watch his boyfriends fuck.

These two handsome men who have become the enemies of his family.

These two enemies who he should have never been introduced to but met anyways. These two enemies who he should never love but loves anyway.

Wonpil admires the way the muscles in Dowoon’s abdomen and arms flex as he thrusts. He admires the juicy way Younghyun’s meaty thighs bounce every time their hips meet. He enjoys how baritone Younghyun’s grunts and groans become. Sacrilegiously, he is amazed by the silver shine of the cross that hangs on a chain around Dowoon's neck. How the symbol bounces against Dowoon's sweaty chest. It's a sight to behold. A miracle to witness. And Wonpil finds that he absolutely loves the wet, delightful noise of Dowoon’s cock sliding in and out of Younghyun’s hole. God. He is hard again just watching. He does not even need to touch himself. If they go on in such a manner for long enough, he can cum just like this.

This aroused, the only solution he can come up with is to kiss Dowoon’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw, his earlobe. The sweet scent of roses that Dowoon bathed in has mellowed as his sweat has washed away the perfume. Wonpil sucks in a deep breath through his nose and basks in Dowoon’s natural, heady smell. Like an aphrodisiac. Dowoon turns his attention away from his pistoning hips to crash their mouths together in a wet, sloppy kiss. Wonpil drags his hand across Dowoon’s sweaty chest. He feels his fingers ghost over Dowoon’s pert nipples. Lower, his hand travels, and he can feel every contraction of Dowoon's abs as he fucks. He does not pause until he hears Younghyun gasp out his name. Wonpil switches targets. He breaks away from Dowoon, crawls across the pile of clothes, drapes an arm over Younghyun’s heaving chest and languidly kisses his armpit, his collarbone, the base of his throat. Without a cock up his ass, Wonpil almost can’t decide what to do, but he knows that he enjoys all of these new sensations. Hearing Younghyun pant out a name that’s not his own, feeling Younghyun’s whole body shake whenever Dowoon slams into him, being able to wrap his hand around Younghyun’s cock, squeeze upward and milk out a fresh dribble of precum.

Wonpil licks at Younghyun’s nipple, almost out of anxiousness. He thinks back. What does Younghyun always do while Dowoon fucks him? Alternatively, what does Dowoon always do when Younghyun fucks him? What do they do when it is not their turn?

The answer is so obvious he nearly laughs at himself. 

He blows cool air across Younghyun’s wet, bitten nipple and then sits up. He pulls his hand off of Younghyun’s cock just to wrap it tight around his own. He strokes himself off. Slow. So turned on that there’s a bit of a haze to everything he sees. The sweat on Younghyun’s chest catches the yellow glow of the moonlight. He’s beautiful. Always has been. Wonpil wants to cum across his heaving chest. He strokes himself a little faster.

But Dowoon, for all his size, for all the power he can put in each thrust, hasn’t always been able to last long. He bites back a groan. Swears. His hips falter. Slow. “Fuck,” he chokes out. “I’m… I’m cumming.” And he manages two more quick, hard thrusts but, on the third, he jolts like he’s been electrically shocked. He throws his head back and shudders. Cums. 

Wonpil’s vision whites slightly around the edges like the orgasm is tearing through him instead of Dowoon. Then Dowoon all but turns to jelly and flops onto his back like he’s been shot. His cock slides free of Younghyun’s hole and they both shriek and whimper at the sudden loss. Younghyun’s toes curl. He squeezes his eyes shut. He grabs a fistful of his own hair. His swollen hole tightens around air. Around nothing. Around the place where a cock should be.

Dowoon throws an arm over his eyes. He bites his bottom lip. He’s still cumming. A fresh glob of white weakly shoots from the tip of his cock and drips down the thick shaft. Dowoon shakes. His balls visibly tighten. More white spews from the tip.

Wonpil watches the two of them shake and gasp and whisper curses into the air. He strokes his own cock and tries to bring himself to orgasm.

“No. No,” Younghyun says. He reaches out wildly in Wonpil’s direction but misses his arm by a significant distance. “Fuck me,” he wheezes. “Fuck me again.”

Wonpil’s eyes go wide. “Younghyun?”

At the sound of his name, Younghyun opens his eyes. He looks straight at Wonpil and holds his gaze. “Fuck me,” he demands. “Make me cum.”

“You heard the man,” Dowoon chokes out. At least now, his orgasm has passed. With his fingers, he drags his half-hard cock through the cum splattered across his stomach. “Get in there.”

As if his request couldn’t be made clearer, Younghyun shuffles around, untangles his legs from Dowoon’s, and presents his red, puckered, dripping-cum hole to Wonpil.

Hearing the invitation loud and clear, Wonpil crawls forward on his knees. He grips his cock by the base, aims the head at Younghyun’s hole. He means to go slow. He means to give Younghyun a break after such a pounding, but the slide into the clutch of his heat is so smooth and hot and wet and easy that he’s balls deep before he even notices.

“I’m almost there,” Younghyun tells him. “I just need a little more. I just need you.” And he wraps both of his hands around his cock and strokes himself off, even though Wonpil’s not even moving.

“Get to it,” Dowoon chastises. He slaps Wonpil’s ass hard to get him into motion. “Find that spot. Make him cum.” 

Not wanting to disappoint, Wonpil draws his hips back and slams them forward. He wants to go slow, he really truly does - because he knows exactly how much fucking cock Dowoon has - but Younghyun is so easy to thrust into. So fun to fuck. Wonpil can’t catch hold of his high-pitched, delighted giggle before it leaps from his throat.

Younghyun smiles back at him. Pleased. Proud. “Does it feel good,” he asks. His voice hoarse and scratchy from all of his moaning. “Am I good?”

“You’re so good,” Wonpil commends him, though he can hardly hear himself over the slapping of his skin against Younghyun’s.

“That looks so fun,” Dowoon croaks into his ear. One of his hands grips Wonpil’s ass tight and shoves him forward like he’s trying to guide Wonpil into a faster, harsher pace.

“It is fun,” Wonpil agrees and he lets Dowoon’s hands help him fuck Younghyun.

“I mean,” Dowoon says, a little louder to be heard over the rhythm of their sin, “it looks so fun to take cock. The next time we meet up, the two of you can fuck me next?”

Younghyun hears that. He grunts out, “Oh fuck. Another of the things I’ve dreamed of… Watching that big cock of yours swing between your legs while little Wonpil fucks you.”

Their imaginations encroach on Wonpil’s mind. Flood him with fiery desire. He loses himself in the grip of Younghyun’s slick hole around his cock.

“F-f-f-fuck,” Younghyun mewls. He abandons stroking his cock with both hands and settles on just using his right. Now he can use a faster, more frenzied pace, his fist a blur as it moves up and down his shaft. “I’m close. I’m-- Fuck, Wonpil, I’m gonna--” And the sentence is hardly out of his mouth before he gives his cock one last upward stroke and cums a second time that night.

Somehow, he’s more explosive this time around than the first. The initial shot of cum shoots clear over his head, lost across the fabric of one of their shirts. The second shot deposits a gloriously goopy mess in Younghyun’s hair. The third leaves a streak of white between his eyebrows.

It’s such a wondrous feeling, Wonpil notices. He can feel Younghyun’s orgasm. Not just through the intense connection they share, but physically. He can feel Younghyun's muscles spasm and tighten and grip his cock as if to hold him in place as the orgasm winds down. Wonpil watches as Younghyun strokes himself again, fingers sticky, once, twice, three times, before a noticeably late fourth rope of cum launches from the tip of his cock and drizzles white across his abs.

It’s all he’s got left.

Wonpil feels even that little detail in the clench of Younghyun’s muscles around him, even before Younghyun relaxes and drops his head back against their clothing. Even before he lets go of his cock and stares up at Wonpil like he’s madly, deeply, dangerously in love. 

Dowoon leans into Wonpil’s field of view. “Are you gonna cum for us,” he asks. He tightens his grip on Wonpil’s ass and, even more forcefully than before, shoves him forward and back, forward and back, making him fuck into Younghyun.

“Y-y-yeah,” Wonpil stutters. Younghyun is warm and still so tight around him. Wonpil’s nowhere near the lapping of the waves against the dock but he feels like he’s drowning. Like he’s too wet. Too deep. Sinking down to the very bottom. The very depths. “Y-y-y-yeah. I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum for you both.”

Dowoon shifts a bit behind him. Grips Wonpil by the hips like he might fuck him. But instead, he keeps controlling Wonpil's hips, guiding Wonpil’s cock in and out of Younghyun’s hole, yanking Wonpil back so far and so fast that he can nearly feel himself slip free of Younghyun’s heat. Feel Dowoon’s flaccid cock slap against his ass cheeks. But then Dowoon pushes him forward again, shoves him into Younghyun.

“Come here,” Younghyun whines. He sits up a little, wraps his arms around Wonpil’s neck and pulls him down so that they are laying on top of each other, face to face. Chest to chest. Younghyun kisses him. Slow and measured despite how chaotically Wonpil thrusts into him. Their new position offers a whole new world of friction. Wonpil feels Younghyun's soft cock against his stomach. He feels Younghyun's nipples slide across his chest. The sensations spark pleasure in him, send tingles up his spine, but Wonpil needs a little bit more than this. Just a little bit more.

“Need help,” Dowoon asks when he notices how erratic Wonpil’s movements have become.

Wonpil breaks away from his kiss with Younghyun. “Yes,” Wonpil chokes out. Because he’s right there. He’s so close. It won't take much to tip him over.

He doesn’t know what exactly Dowoon plans to do to guide him over the edge. What he does not expect, though, is to feel two spit-slick fingers press into his hole. The sensation is borderline overwhelming, touching Younghyun and being touched by Dowoon, but Wonpil finds himself energized by the stimulation. He regains a bit of his strength. When he thrusts forward, his cock is gripped - practically massaged - by Younghyun’s tightening walls. When he thrusts backwards, Dowoon’s fingers slide deeper and deeper into him. All the while, Younghyun bites gently into his throat and wheezes out aborted syllables of his name.

It's an onslaught of stimulation. Wonpil does not get a moment of rest but, still, he keens for more. 

Dowoon leans over him. “Do you want to cum?”

Wonpil doesn’t know why the man is asking. Of course he wants to cum! Need he be more obvious, whimpering and panting and shaking like this?

“I can make you cum,” Dowoon offers confidently. “Just say when.”

Wonpil isn’t sure how he’s going to make good on such a promise but his curiosity wins out. “When,” he rasps out.

Dowoon twists his fingers inside Wonpil’s hole. Slides them in deep. He curls them downward and pushes.

Something strange happens then.

It feels like every single nerve in Wonpil’s body crackles to life and sends an urgent message of ecstasy from one end of his body to the other. Wonpil chokes on air. He gags around nothing. Pleasure spikes up his spine and to the back of his head so acutely that he can’t hold back his shout.

“Found it,” Dowoon laughs. “You two are so easy.”

Wonpil squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t even realize that he’s cumming until the second wave tightens around the base of his cock. He spills inside Younghyun. Three times. Four. Five. He pours out like a fountain while Dowoon mercilessly slams those skilled fingers against that sinful, brilliant place.

“There, there,” coos Younghyun adoringly. He wipes the pads of his thumbs across Wonpil’s cheeks. “You did so good.” He kisses the tip of Wonpil’s nose.

The softness helps Wonpil through his orgasm. Through the shivering mess of the aftershocks. Helps bring him down from that almost terrifying high. 

His hips still. His body sags in relief.

He’s empty. Wrung dry.

And he’s never felt better.

Dowoon leans down, kisses him on the back of the neck. Knuckle by knuckle, he slides his fingers from out of Wonpil’s clenching hole and, feeling numb and tingly like his whole body’s fallen asleep, Wonpil pulls his hips back until his softening cock slips free of Younghyun’s impossibly addictive warmth. Immediately, Wonpil's cum drips out of the man. Translucent white in stark contrast against glossy red.

They have no time to bask in the afterglow, of course. Their families are mortal enemies so the love the three of them share cannot exist beneath the truth-revealing light of the sun. 

Secrets are only allowed at night. Beneath the moon. Beneath the stars.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up,” Dowoon says. He playfully smacks Wonpil’s ass then leans over and repeats the action with Younghyun. “See the sky getting light? The fishermen will be here any moment if they aren't already on their way.”

And they still have to clean themselves, get dressed and sail back down the canals.

“If you’re not in the boat when I’m dressed, you’re getting left behind,” Dowoon snaps, but the threat is empty. He takes a running start, leaps into the ocean with a mighty, noisy splash and he shrieks at the sudden coldness.

Younghyun rolls over and presses a chaste kiss to Wonpil’s mouth. “Thank you,” he says. "For making this dream of mine come true." Then he is standing, running to the edge of the dock and leaping into the water to let the ocean cleanse their night of revelry away.

Wonpil lays on their pile of damp, ruined clothes for a moment and stares up at the sky. All except the brightest stars have faded as the gray of dawn eats up the horizon in the east. Gold light just beginning to reflect off yonder windows. Even the moon, as large and fat and yellow as it had been in the early hours of the night, is now a small and faded and silver afterimage at the edge of the sky. Wonpil loves Younghyun and he loves Dowoon. Both of them. With all of his heart. With every fiber of his being. With every molecule and atom and cell his body holds. He loves them even though the three can’t truly be together. He loves them despite how the three of them can’t truly be together. Under the sun. Revealed. Open. 

But even the ache of his own heart is easy to mend and ignore when he’s this deep in love.

The swirling colors in the warming sky gives him an idea for an intriguing, mysterious color palette. Pinks and oranges and purples and blues. So much blue. The spark of a new painting series lights a fire in his head. A series of masterpieces, he believes, that will have his work displayed on walls immediately next to the masters. The artistic geniuses.

He must get to his paints. He must get to his canvases. 

Going home does not seem so awful now. Leaving the warmth of their hands and bodies and love does not seem so dreadful now.

Wonpil gets to his feet, runs for the edge of the dock and takes a leap of faith into the sea.


End file.
